


Nothing So Divine

by roseforthethorns



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, Bond loses his soul, Canon Typical Violence, M/M, all Craig films
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11530713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: Everyone who has had a near death experience remembers something different. James Bond is no exception to this.In which James comes back from the dead... but not all of him returned.





	1. Part I: Casino Royale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [timetospy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetospy/gifts).



> I dedicate this to boffin1710 and timetospy: my friends, my betas, my inspiration.

The water feels like ice. 

James tugs on the bars of the elevator as Vesper convulses. Her mouth is open, eyes wide in shock. No no NO. Everything is blue and green, and even as James tries to kick the lock free, he knows he won't be able to break it. A single bubble of air floats from Vesper’s mouth, and she stops moving. She's gone. 

James's chest burns with the need to breathe and the pain of seeing the woman he loved refuse to be saved. He could have made it. He should have. She shouldn't be dead. The cold is seeping into his bones, and as he looks up at the surface of the water, he knows instinctively he won't see the sun again. There's no point in fighting anymore.

He breathes. 

Water rushes into his lungs, and he chokes and thrashes as his body fights to stay alive. James's vision clouds and fades from blue to purple to black. He loses the feeling in his limbs, and then he closes his eyes. He welcomes death.

***

_ “Ahhhhh, Mr. Bond. I wondered when you would find your way to me.” _

He doesn't open his eyes yet. The voice is soft, vaguely familiar, but he can't place it. Maybe he doesn't want to. He doesn't feel any pain. He's floating somewhere warm.

_ “Such fine work trying to save the girl. It's really a pity she was one of mine. Outlived her usefulness and had to be disposed of. Though your efforts to save her were quite amusing.” _

Girl? What girl? He frowns and is about to open his eyes when he remembers. 

Vesper. 

Memories come rushing back as he remembers drowning, and he tries to thrash and kick and breathe, but something or someone is holding him still. James forces his eyes open and squints in the dim light of a huge, cavernous room. The walls are a dark, polished stone, and in front of him is a shorter man with sandy hair and a delighted, malevolent smile. 

_ “Unfortunately you weren't supposed to die, yet. You've rather ruined my plans, but no matter. Death is so easily corrected.” _

James can't move as the man steps forward and reaches for his chest. He stares as the man’s hand touches his bare chest (why isn't he wearing a shirt?!) and then sinks through his skin. 

It's like he's been branded. The pain is excruciating, and James screams as he feels something being dragged from his body, tugging inside, pulling. It burns… and then he hears something snap. 

The pain fades away as the man withdraws his hand, holding a glowing, silver-blue ball of light in his hand. It illuminates his round face and casts additional shadows. James realizes it's the only source of light in the room. 

_ “I'll keep this. Payment. Now wakey wakey. You have a job to do.” _

***

Bond’s eyes snap open. There's water all around him, and Vesper’s corpse floats within the metal cage of the broken elevator. He's back in Venice. 

Without a second glance, Bond kicks and swims up to the surface, leaving Vesper Lynd at the bottom of the canal.


	2. Part II: Quantum of Solace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without a soul, Quantum doesn't quite go the way it should have.

Bond shoves White into the waiting chair, pleased to hear the man wheezing softly. “Don’t bleed to death,” he says before striding over to M.  _ 007, reporting for duty _ .

She’s talking now, M, and he answers automatically until she shows him photos of Yusef Kabira. Vesper’s in the photos too. He remembers that smile. It used to make him feel… something. She used to make him feel something. His brow furrows as anger rises in his chest because something is missing, something important, but when he tries to remember, there’s nothing.

“I need to know that I can trust you.”

Bond glances at M to find her scrutinizing him. “And you don’t?”

“Well, it’d be a pretty cold bastard who didn’t want revenge for the death of someone he loved.”

_ He had loved Vesper? _ He shrugs. “I’m not gonna go chasing him. He’s not important.” He adds as an afterthought, “And neither was she.”

The moment M turns away, Bond pockets the picture of Yusef and Vesper. Why would he want revenge? Why should he? Bond can feel anger there, but he shoves it back, shaking his head and turning his attention to White. He could have answers.

Bond sits down next to White, sizing up the man. Shooting out his knee had felt so damn good that Bond idly thinks he’d like to shoot out the other one, especially once White starts talking.

It’s the kind of talking where he says nothing. His cocky attitude begins grating against Bond’s nerves until he’s clenching his teeth and estimating how quickly he could draw and fire.

“Well then, the first thing you should know about us is that we have people everywhere. Am I right?”

Had Bond not been so conscious of his gun he might not have moved in time. He sees M’s guard begin to move, but Bond is faster, and the man is down before he can fire. The shot is clean, between the guard’s eyes. Threat eliminated. And it’s curious. Before, killing in the line of duty had left him with a rush of adrenaline and the thrill of survival. Seeing Mitchell dead on the ground leaves Bond with the same empty feeling he has when he thinks about Vesper. He should be feeling something and he’s not.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Bond turns and looks at M; the only thing betraying her current mood is the flash of fury in her eyes. “He threatened you. He was going to shoot you.”

“So take him out so that we can question him. Don’t kill him.”

***

M won’t be pleased, but Bond finds he doesn’t much care.

She’s hounding him now for killing his enemies, but they’re trying to kill him too. The contact in Haiti? He came at Bond with a knife. The man on the motorbike could have given him away. Though Camille is a curiosity. Confident, driven, definitely sexy, but at the end of the day she’s dead weight, so he leaves her in the arms of some attendant and leaves for Austria. If she hadn’t gotten herself knocked out, perhaps he might have brought her along. He could use a chance to blow off some steam. But she had been stupid, so he dumps her and moves on.

***

Clearly going to Mathis had been a bad idea. He could have found another way to get to Bolivia, stowed away or something. Now “his friend Mathis” is nothing more than dead weight. Literally.

The idiot got himself beat up and shoved in the boot of Bond’s car, and now he’d got himself shot by the Bolivian police force. The officers are dead, shot where they stood, and Bond is standing over Mathis.

“There’s a hospital on the other side of town,” Camille murmurs.

“Please… stay with me…” Mathis croaks. He even reaches for Bond’s jacket. Bond rolls his eyes and fishes Mathis’ wallet from his coat and takes the cash. He stands, dropping the wallet on the dying man and getting back in the car. Camille follows a few seconds later.

“Is that how you treat all your friends?”

“Trust me. He wouldn’t care,” says Bond, putting the car into gear and driving away.

***

Well it was only a matter of time before MI6 caught up with him. M is even there in the hotel to give him a dressing down. Lucky him.

“Well I’m disappointed.”

_ Really? Big surprise _ . “You are? How much oil did the Americans promise you?”

“This isn’t about oil.”

“Well good because there isn’t any.”

“It’s about trust. You said you weren’t motivated by revenge.” M’s face is impassive but her tone is accusing. So Bond accuses back.

“I’m motivated by my  _ duty _ .” His words slice through the air, but before he can continue she cuts him off.

“No. I think you are so blinded by inconsolable rage that you don’t care who you hurt. When you can’t tell your friends from your enemies, it’s time to go.”

_ This is bullshit _ , Bond thinks, but he glances over to the closed bedroom doors. He can just see a figure through them, still and unmoving. He strides over and opens the doors, finding Fields on the bed. She’s clearly dead, completely coated in oil.  _ Too stupid to keep herself out of trouble _ .

“You might want to tell her your theory about there being no oil,” M says, walking up beside him, “because her lungs are full of it.”

Anger at knowing he should  _ feel _ something for this girl sweeps through him, and he doesn’t really register anything for a few seconds, responds on instinct until M cuts him off.

“Look how well your charm works, James. They’ll do anything for you.”

***

He’s holding Greene out over the edge of the floor as the building burns around them, gripping his hair as he tries to keep Greene from falling out of… out of what? His sense of duty? The job? Bond starts when he hears a single gunshot, his head snapping around to look in the direction of the noise.

“Sounds like you just lost another one,” Greene cackles from below.

Bond looks down at Greene and just shakes his head. Fuck this. He lets go, Greene screaming as he plummets to his death. Bond makes his way through the flames to find the General’s room and there, curled up by the wall, is Camille. As he gets closer, Bond can see that she’s completely in shock, useless now and unable to move, unable to even push past her basic fears of fire. She’s weak, and she’ll just slow him down. Bond turns away in disgust, shoots out the wall, and leaves her there to burn.

***

Finding Yusef is pathetically easy, and scaring away the Canadian girl even easier. Bond stands, gun leveled at Yusef’s head.

“Please. Make it quick.”

After everything he’s been through in the past few weeks, he’s found the man in the photo, the man with Vesper. There’s still nothing but anger when he thinks of her name. He can certainly remember her dying, but he feels nothing when he examines that memory.

He should kill this man. He should shoot him and be done… but Bond’s angry and some small part of him understands that he’s suffering. So he shoots out Yusef’s kneecaps and goes to wait outside for Six.

The arrive soon, bandaging Yusef’s injuries and sedating him for easy travel. His words to M are curt, merely a formality. Bond knows she won’t fire him; after all, he’s the best agent she has. A true machine.

“I need you back,” she says as he turns to go.

What a funny thing to say. “I never left,” Bond replies before he vanishes into the Russian night on his way back to England. That empty feeling is still there, and Bond forgets that he ever felt otherwise.

007\. Reporting for duty.


	3. Part III: Skyfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something James lost is returned to him, but even that has consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A humongous thank you to timetospy for being my Beta. I cannot thank you enough, and I'm just going to keep saying thank you until the end of time.

Leaving Ronson behind is easy, and Bond doesn’t give it a second thought. He’s chasing after the list, obeying the barking commands of his master with a new agent in tow. She’s rather pretty in a spiky way, and perhaps when the job is done they can share a hotel room. He always needs to blow off steam after a job well done.

Bond feels nothing but minor irritation when a bullet rips through his right shoulder. That’s another suit ruined in the line of duty. He redoubles his focus to catch up with the hitman, and before long they’re on the roof of the train. And Bond has it. He has the cord for the list in his hand and just has to break the man’s grip and get free when he hears, “Take the bloody shot!”

Then he’s flying. He’s falling. Bond plummets off the train and down to the water, body completely relaxed and in shock from the hole in his torso. He hits the water with a loud slap and loses consciousness.

***

He’s back in the dark cavern with light glinting off the stone as he struggles awake.

“ _Lie still. There isn’t much time._ ”

Bond’s eyes snap open as he looks up to see, “ _Vesper_.”

She’s holding something, something shining a brilliant silver-blue in her hands. It seems to be trying to pull away from her, towards him.

“ _Where am I?_ ”

“ _Shhhhh_ .” She smiles at him and presses the light into his chest. There’s a searing, burning feeling and James screams; the pain is indescribable, and he can feel it everywhere, like being electrocuted, and then it stops. As swiftly as it had begun, the pain vanishes. Vesper hugs him tightly once the light is completely absorbed. “ _You’ll be all right. It’s back where it should be now._ ”

His chest feels warm, and the warmth is spreading to his extremities. It rids him of a chill he didn't know existed. James looks at Vesper, and he pulls her close, kissing her. She feels so cold to his touch, but she's solid. She's there. When she pulls back, she smiles sadly at him.

“ _Vesper-_ ”

“ _You have to go back. You have to wake up, James_.”

And he does. James blinks and squints in the afternoon sun. He’s lying on a beach with incredible pain in his shoulder and his torso. He can see blood. He needs to move. He needs to find help, but when he tries to move, James blacks out from the pain.

***

_Three months later_

James is sitting at a bar with several empty glasses in front of him as the sun rises. His mouth is dry and he feels like shit, and he honestly doesn't give a damn.

It's been three months since he’s come back from the dead, three months since he started feeling again. His shoulder aches and keeps him awake when the nightmares don't, and he's finally fully healed from the surgery to repair the damage done by Eve’s bullet. He goes from girl to girl the way he chases his alcohol. It's a means to an end. He wants to be numb and forget. He wants to block out Greene’s screams, Mathis’ pleading, Camille’s shock. He desperately wants to forget everything he's done.

He wants to forget Vesper too.

Her death still weighs heavily on his soul, and just the thought of her has James reaching for a bottle of scotch behind the bar; he would have drunk it too had the news not changed.

There had been an explosion. Six was crippled. No clue how many were dead.

Something tugs at his heart, and James knows it's time to return home.

***

 _M really needs better security_ , Bond thinks as he prowls her townhouse. He locates the scotch with ease and pours himself a large helping. It's the least she can do for him after what she'd done. He can still hear her pompous voice in his ear ordering the shot. It haunts him.

The door opens, and James lays eyes on M for the first time in several months. She looks older, more frail, but the moment she realizes there's someone in the flat, her armor snaps into place.  “Where the _hell_ have you been?”

Her voice even sounds the same, as sharp as ever. “Enjoying death,” he replies languidly. “007, reporting for duty.” James takes a long pull from his drink and has to squint in the sudden light of the room as M flips the switch.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“You didn’t get the postcard? You know you should try it sometime, get away from it all. It really lends perspective.”

“Run out of drink where you were, did they?”

That stings, and James can’t quite keep the bitterness from his voice as he takes a few steps towards M. “What was it you said? ‘Take the bloody shot.’”

“I made a judgement call.”

“You should’ve trusted me to finish the job.”

“It was the possibility of losing you or the certainty of losing all those other agents. I made the only decision I could, and you know it.”

And he does. James does know it, and that doesn’t stop it from hurting anyway. His shoulder twinges, and he glares at her accusingly. “I think you lost your nerve.”

“Well, what did you expect a bloody apology? You know the rules of the game. You’ve been playing it long enough. We both have.” M seems to be daring him to tell her otherwise, and James doesn’t appreciate the tone of superiority in her voice.

“Maybe too long.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“Ronson didn’t make it, did he?”

“No.”

There’s silence for a moment as James remembers seeing Ronson bleeding out, remembers looking for the disk… and then leaving without so much as a backward glance. He hadn’t even tried to help the agent. “So this is it. We’re both played out.”

“Well if you believe that, why did you come back?”

James contemplates his scotch for a beat, wondering the same damn thing. “Good question.”

“Because we’re under attack.” M looks at him for a moment before continuing, “And you know we need you.” He hates it when she’s right. When she knows him better than he knows himself. It’s why he hates her, but she’s half the reason he’s even here. So what does that say about his priorities?

“Well I’m here.”

“You’ll have to be debriefed and declared fit for active service. You can only return to duty when you’ve passed the tests, so take them seriously.” She wrinkles her nose, “And a shower might be in order.”

“I’ll go home and change.” Bond starts to stand, to leave M and the warmest welcome he could have hoped for.

“Oh we’ve sold your flat, put your things into storage. Standard procedure upon the death of an unmarried employee with no next of kin." M's expression is inscrutable, but her tone is dry, almost amused. "Should’ve called.”

Oh, of course. Of-bloody-course. Not even a home to come back to - not that it was ever a home, but it was a familiar bed, at any rate. “I’ll find a hotel.”

“Well you’re bloody well not sleeping here.”

James isn’t sure he wouldn’t have preferred M’s sofa to a hard hotel mattress, but the point is hardly up for debate. He leaves, emerging into the London night from the front door this time, to find suitable accommodations.

***

James’ whole body aches when, two days later, he takes a seat before a painting in the National Gallery. The tests had been grueling on him, leaving him feeling battered and more than a little broken. He can’t shoot straight, and his endurance is absolute shit now. He's certain he failed his tests, but M cleared him anyway. James sighs and tries to focus on the painting on the wall. _The Fighting Temeraire_ by Turner. Maybe if he didn’t feel like death warmed over he might have a better appreciation for the work, but all he wants right now is a drink. Or several. But there’s a job to do, and he’s waiting to meet with the new Quartermaster.

It will be strange not working with Boothroyd anymore. James has seen more missions with Boothroyd’s tech in his hand than anyone else in Six. The old man had been reliable, if perhaps a tad dotty in his old years, and in a rare moment of emotion, James finds he misses the man. It was a horrible way to go, dying in the explosion that had crippled Six’s headquarters. Just another person James couldn’t save.

Someone sits next to him, and it takes a great deal for James to not physically bristle. A surreptitious glance from the corner of his eye shows him a young man with tousled dark brown hair and glasses. He seems to be wearing a suit under a waterproof jacket.

“Always makes me feel a little melancholy. A grand old warship being hauled ignominiously away for scrap. The inevitability of time don’t you think. What do you see?”

This kid just sits down and starts talking to him? Fuck this, James has better things to do than listen to an art student prattle on. “A bloody big ship. Excuse me.”

“007? I’m your new Quartermaster.”

 _What?_ “You must be joking.” M must've scraped the bottom of the barrel this time. This _child_ is barely out of nappies. Boothroyd might have been old - and possibly a bit mad - but at least he wasn’t a _child_.

“Why, because I’m not wearing a lab coat?” The missing lab coat was the least of Bond’s concerns.

“Because you still have spots.”

“My complexion is hardly relevant.” That’s a technicality, and they both know it.

“Well your competence is.”

“Age is no guarantee of efficiency.” Not a guarantee, perhaps, but it went a long way towards comfort, and this meeting was anything but comfortable. Did he know how green his eyes looked in this light?

“And youth is no guarantee of innovation.”

“I’ll hazard I can do more damage on my laptop sitting in my pajamas before my first cup of Earl Grey than you can do in a year in the field.” Despite the charming image of this young man lounging in his pajamas, the barb still stung.

“Oh, so why do you need me?”

“Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled.” Ah, yes, the old misconception that all Double-Oh agents were good for was being on the other end of a gun. How tiresome. He was so much more than a simple trigger finger.

“Or not pulled. It’s hard to know which in your pajamas. Q.”

“007.”

Q turns to him, then, and there’s the spark of a smile at the corner of his mouth and James is overcome, for one blinding moment, by the fact that this man is not only clever but also quite handsome in his boffin-esque way. He pushes the realization aside as they shake hands.

“Ticket to Shanghai, documentation and passport.”

“Thank you.” He tucks the envelope into his breast pocket. It’s oddly warm against his heart.

“And this.” Q brings out a case and pops it open. “Walther PPKS .9 mm short. There’s a micro-dermal sensor in the grip. It’s been coded to your palmprint so only you can fire it. Less of a random killing machine and more of a personal statement.”

James is impressed now. He's had plenty of times where an enemy used his own gun against him. He taps the empty rectangle in the foam. “And this?”

“Standard issue radio transmitter. Activate it and it broadcasts your location. Distress signal. And that’s it.” Q hands him the tiny radio and their fingers touch again. James chides himself for noticing.

“A gun… and a radio. Not exactly Christmas is it?”

“Were you expecting an exploding pen? We don’t really go in for that anymore.” The look Q gives him is curious, slightly condescending but in a teasing way. James bites back a smirk as Q stands. “Good luck out there in the field, and please return the equipment in one piece.”

James watches Q walk away and shakes his head.

“Brave new world.”

After a few minutes, James stands and buttons his coat before leaving the Gallery. He barely feels the biting air as he turns up his collar and hails a cab. There is time before his flight leaves, surely enough time to grab a bite to eat.

London flies by the window of the car as James stares out almost absently, his thoughts still lingering on the new Quartermaster. Q. An unexpected surprise in a rather handsome package. The longer James thinks about him the more he remembers from the scene. He pulls up details observed but not noted at the time, like the precise curl of Q’s fringe and wondering what it might be like to run his fingers through that hair. He contemplates Q’s smile for a moment and the way it made his eyes crinkle and warm to him. Q is the first person he’s met for several days who didn’t seem to have many preconceived notions about James, no assumptions about his qualifications or his skills. Q had been… pleasant.

He shakes his head and tries to put it out of his mind. He’s seen thousands upon thousands of people in his lifetime, bedded many, killed others. Why does this particular handsome bloke seem stuck in his head when so many others passed by him unremarked and anonymous? What is it about Q that has him thinking? And what could it mean?

The car pulls to a stop, and James pays the driver before stepping out and heading into his favorite London pub. The least he could do before flying to China was enjoy a proper English dinner and watch whatever match happened to be on.

And try not to think too hard about green-eyed boffins who made personalized guns for his use.

***

Q-branch in the bunker has a cold coziness to it. Several large screens hang on one wall while the minions sit at their desks facing said screens while working at monitors and laptops of their own. At the center of it all is Q. He’s moving back and forth between his own workstation and Silva’s laptop with the restrained glee of someone who knows just how clever they are.

“Now, looking at Silva’s computer, it seems to me he’s done a number of slightly unusual things. He’s established failsafe protocols to wipe the memory if there’s any attempt to access certain files. Only about six people in the world could program safeguards like that.”

James fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Of course there are. Can you get past them?”

“I invented them.” Q says this with such a simple, matter-of-fact manner that James is oddly charmed. He’s impressed, and a smirk tugs the corner of his mouth as he surreptitiously checks out Q from behind. The mustard cardigan he’s wearing is… colorful to say the least, but to match it with plaid trousers? James’ fashion sensibilities cry out in pain, but he does get a very good look at Q’s arse in his trousers.

“Right then. Let’s see what you’ve got for us, Mr. Silva.” Q plugs two ethernet cables into a little box attached to Silva’s computer, and the distorted mess on the screen condenses into readable text. “We’re in.”

The branch is bustling with activity now as all the minions work with their leader to pull apart the layers of encryption and explore the cast inner workings of the machine on the desk. One of the minions speaks up, and James suddenly thinks of school; the minions are the students, and Q is the professor. “Sir, what do you make of this?”

Q and James both turn around to the largest screen in the middle of the wall. The code shifts and spins around in concentric circles before zooming deeper into the data. Now it looks like a tangled mess of fractals and twisting triangles.

“It’s his Omega site. Most encrypted level he has,” Q says almost to himself as he begins typing at his own computer. “Looks like obfuscated code to conceal its true purpose. Security through obscurity.”

James paces slowly in front of the screen to look from as many angles as he can. There’s a certain elegance to the pattern; even he can appreciate that. While he may not be as adept at hacking as Q or Silva, he’s no slouch, though this is beyond him. He watches, looking for patterns while Q works silently for a few minutes.

“He’s using a polymorphic engine to mutate the code. Whenever I try to gain access it changes. It’s like solving a Rubik’s Cube that’s fighting back.” Q’s voice has an edge to it, not anything angry, but perhaps a tad frustrated. Determined to help (and maybe show off to Q), James scans the lines of code on the side of the screen when he suddenly spots something that looks rather familiar.

“Stop. Go in on that.” A few keystrokes and the code lines up for form a single word: _Granborough_. “Granborough. Granborough Road. It’s an old Tube station on the Metropolitan line. Been closed for years. Use that as a key.”

Q does, and the word causes the twisted code to unfold and turn blood red, revealing its true form. James feels a small flash of pride. He’d solved the puzzle that had been confounding Q.

“Oh look, it’s a map!” Q sounds delighted by this news.

James looks closer and confirms Q’s initial observation. “It’s London. Subterranean London.”

There’s a pneumatic hiss and a small click behind him, and James turns around as Q says, “What’s going on? Why are the doors open?”

It takes three seconds for the horrible truth to sink in, and then James is running. He’s tearing through the HQ bunker to isolation only to confirm his fears when he sees the guards dead on the ground. “Oh no. Q. He’s gone.” James hurries to an open grate to see a steep, metal ladder heading deeper into London. Silva has a headstart, but James will be damned if he lets the man get away. So he heads down after him.

“I’m in a stairwell below isolation. Do you read me, Q?”

“I can hear you. I’m looking for you.” There’s a moment’s pause, and then, “Got you! Tracking your location. Just keep moving forward.” James jumps the last few stairs and cocks his gun the moments his feet touch solid ground. “Enter the next service door on your right.”

Q’s voice in his ear is calm and comforting, though the latter observation surprises James. It’s been longer than he can remember that a handler on a mission made him feel anything like safe. He follows Q’s instructions and opens the door.

“If you’re through that door you should be in the Tube.”

Well what do you know. “I’m in the Tube.” He starts down the tunnel as Q chatters on. He sounds focused and distracted; James thinks he must be looking at several screens at once to track him and try to find Silva simultaneously.

“Bond, this isn’t an escape. This was years in the planning. He wanted us to capture him. He wanted us to access his computer. It was all planned. Blowing up HQ. Knowing the emergency protocols. Knowing we’d retreat down here.”

“I’ve got all that. It’s what he’s got planned next that worries me.” Because it could be anything even though James knows what’s next; Silva had said as much on the island. M is in danger, and as much anger as James feels for her, she did also save him and give him some strange semblance of family by bringing him into the program. He cares about her, but he will never admit it out loud. With Silva loose in London, she isn’t safe, and it’s his fault. He should have killed Silva on the island and had done with it.

“District Line is the closest. There should be a service door on your left.”

Q’s voice startles James from his thoughts, and he sees the door. “Got it.” He tries the handle only to find it stuck. He jiggles it again with the same result. “It won’t open.”

“Of course it will. Put your back into it.”

“Why don’t you come down here and put your back into it?” James snaps back. Just like a techie to think things in the field are easy. He tries again, pushing against the handle but the door won’t budge. “No, it’s stuck.” James turns to look back the way he’d come and sees the tunnel growing brighter. “Oh, good. There’s a train coming.” It’s coming towards him rather faster than he’d like, and he still can’t get the bloody door open.

“Hmmm. That’s vexing,” Q mutters in his ear, and James almost pulls out the earwig. Instead, he starts ramming his shoulder against the painfully solid metal door to no avail. With the train bearing down on him and the roar of the engine echoing in the tunnel, James steps back, aims, and fires three shots at the lock before hurling himself at the door. It crashes open and he stumbles through to safety.

“I’m through.”

“Told you.” Q sounds relieved as though he’s trying to cover up how nervous he’d been. “We’ve alerted security. Police are on their way.”

James moves forward into the dark as Q guides him to to the station. Q had actually been worried about him? It certainly makes a change from M’s cold tone on his last mission, the one that had ended with radioactive metal in his shoulder. He could get used to a softer tone leading him to his destination. James slips out of the service tunnel and into the crowded corridor as he makes his way to the platform. There are people every way he turns, and he can't see his quarry.

“Where are you now?”

“Temple Tube Station. Along with half of London.” James feels a pang of mild irritation at the sheer number of people shoving off the train and then back on. Over the noise of the crowd, James can here the ever calm, “Mind the gap,” from the tannoy.

“Oh, I see you. There you are.”

James glares at no one in particular. “I know where I am,  Q. Where’s he?”

“Give us a second. I’m looking for him.”

The crowd on the platform swells as last minute commuters rush for the train. James casts about looking for Silva but still can't find him. Time is swiftly running out for M. “There’s too many people. I can’t see him.”

“Welcome to rush hour on the Tube. Not something you’d know much about.”

James bristles at the jibe, but he can't exactly deny its veracity. “Train’s leaving. Do I get on the train?”

“Don’t get on the train. I’m not sure he’s on it. Give us a minute?”

The doors close, and panic swells in James’ chest. There's nothing but silence from Q, and for a single moment, James thinks they've blown it. “Do I get on the train?”

“Bond?” Q again. The train is already starting to pick up speed.

“What?”

“Get on the train.”

 _Oh for fuck’s sake_. James turns and barrels down the platform towards the train. He reaches the edge and jumps, catching the handle on the door and frightening the Tube controller.

“Will you open the door, please?” She stares at him in shock. “Open. The door,” he repeats with very little patience to spare. She finally opens the door and he steps in and adjusts his tie. “Health and Safety. Carry on.”

***

James breaks the surface of the water and gasps for breath as he drags himself to shore. The air burns with every inhale, but the pain reminds him he's alive. He didn't drown. He. Didn't. Drown.

For a moment as he looks at the water, he thinks he can see Vesper, the way she had looked in the last moment of her life, and then the vision is gone. His goal is ahead now and there's only one man between him and M. Silva will not survive the night.

James reaches the door of the chapel to see Silva holding M with a gun to her head, murmuring, “Only you can do it.” Silva’s back is to him, so James slips the knife from his ankle holster and takes careful aim. A flick of his wrist with enough force sends the knife perfectly into Silva’s back. The gun clatters to the floor, and Silva turns to James with a disbelieving snarl. James takes a few steps forward to look Silva right in the eye. He smirks slightly as he stands triumphant. “Last rat standing.”

Silva rolls his eyes and collapses, dead, to the ground. James exhales slowly and looks to where M is standing. She's alive. Oh thank god she's alive.

“007. What took you so long?”

Alive and as snarky as ever. He can match that. “Well, I got into some deep water.”

M almost smiles, but the expression turns to s grimace and she stumbles. James rushes forward and catches her, kneeling as he holds her close. She feels cold in his arms, and when he glances to her abdomen he can see the red stain against her clothes. His eyes and head know what's happening, but his heart is slow to catch up. James looks to Kincade, and the gamekeeper just shakes his head. Disbelief and fear tighten in his chest. All he can do is hold her close. He was still too late.

“I suppose it’s… too late to make a run for it?”

James tries to smile, but he's fighting back tears as he replies, “Well I’m game if you are.”  He's twelve-years-old again and newly orphaned. He's clinging to the elevator as Vesper kisses him goodbye. When it really matters, he can't save the people he cares about. He never can.

M smiles at him and reaches up, brushing a finger against his jaw. “I did get one thing right,” she murmurs. James barely has time to process one of the kindest things she's ever said to him. He doesn't have a chance to thank her before she's gone. Hand trembling, James closes M’s eyes before holding her body close and letting his tears finally fall.

He cries for his parents. He cries for the dead he could not save. He cries for himself, knowing he can never lead a life where he does not kill those he truly loves.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews and comments welcome.


End file.
